


Aurora

by emmaliza



Category: Veronica Mars - Fandom
Genre: Dark, F/M, Fairy Tales, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She gives no sign of noticing you're there. She blinks and proves she's not (alive) dead. A kiss will break the spell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aurora

There's something distinctly surreal about finding Meg Manning stark naked on the beach just before 6 AM. She's lying absolutely still, for a second you think she might be _(sleeping)_ dead, a beached corpse _(beside the water in a uniform)_, and oh what a shame that would be.

You walk a little closer and she gives no impression of realizing you're there. She blinks and proves she's not _(alive)_ dead, which is a tiny bit of a relief. Her eyes are hazy and unfocused; they zoom in and out on the clouds above her, like when she looks again the whole sky will be different.

“Hey, Meg,” you tell her, mixing “smarmy jackass” with “are you okay?” in just the right amounts. “You know, this isn't actually a nudist beach. There's no-one here yet, but when they show up, you're going to have to either spontaneously turn into a whale, or leave and get some clothes on.”

Her head turns toward you slowly, but she says _(everything)_ nothing. She gives a tiny, knowing smile, and shrugs helplessly, lifting her back off the sand that must be itching _(frustrating)_ and the pebbles that must press into her back and hurt _(anger)_. This is why towels were invented; but Meg doesn't seem to mind, or even notice, and you wonder how drunk she must be to be acting like this, and how the hell you get that _(broken)_ wasted by dawn.

“Hey,” you sit on the sand next to her, feeling the small rocks through your jeans. “Meg, you alright?”

She laughs bitterly _(she sounds like you)_, and it's like nothing you've ever heard from her before. Meg was always sweetness and light, everything everyone knew she couldn't really be, because people like that didn't exist in Neptune, but no-one could ever prove anything wrong with her. Well now, you have proof – you're just not sure of what.

She shakes a little and spreads her body out further, and your eyes are drawn to her form. She's Duncan's incredibly recent ex, sure, but she's also laying naked on the beach for all. Her skin is pale and her frame average – not small like Veronica, a little smaller than Lilly – her blond _(golden)_ hair cascading down her shoulders _(waterfall),_ like any good literary princess. Yeah, real sleeping beauty this one, and you know the story, not the Disney one – a princess left all vulnerable, some sick prince sees a pretty girl and fucks _(rapes)_ her until he comes and she doesn't wake up until a little kid _(consequence)_ is clamoring for a feed. And then the princess lives happily ever after, because that makes so much sense.

Maybe you're thinking of someone else _(a bitch)_.

Her spread out arms make her vulnerable, readable, something you could never really do with Meg Manning. You were a Skeptic to the Meg Manning, you read her anyway you liked and she still came out sweet and innocent, things you didn't believe in. Now, she opens herself to you – while barely acknowledging you exist, arrogant bitch – and you read. You see finger-shaped bruises on the inside of her arm, and you're not at all surprised by sleeping beauty's curse. You wonder if you could turn her over and see the long, thin scars that must run over her back, and you realize you've gone as silent as she is when you reach out.

She lets you turn her, and when you run a finger over her skin, you see nothing. You think the scars should be there, and your hands float over her shoulders, down to her ass. She snorts at your groping, and it's weird and fucked up, but you're getting hard over her anyway. Good job, Prince Charming.

Then she rolls back over, and spreads her legs.

It's all the invitation you need, because you feel you need to make this girl seem alive somehow _(wish upon a star)_, so you don't feel a drop of guilt when you stick two fingers in her and move.

You would expect her to gasp or squirm, at least a little. You would expect her to react, to awaken _(a kiss will break the spell)_, but she seems even less observant of you than she was when you showed up. Her eyes are glued back to the sky, and she annoys you with her disregard. You try and remember the story of a happier fairytale, a princess who wasn't asleep – you remember two kingdoms and their separate heirs, two children full of life and laughter who wed among summer roses.

Then the princess turned into a whore who fucked the prince's Dad _(The King)_ and then he left her splattered all over the pavement _(palace)_, so you become more determined to make Meg acknowledge your work on her _(wake up)_.

You realize that you're moving too fast and your nails are too ragged _(broken)_, and she starts to bleed. She acknowledges that like she acknowledges everything – not – and the guilt of hurting her _(raping the princess)_ is washed away by the reminder that she's Duncan's ex. Duncan _(Meg)_ Veronica _(You)_ Lilly _(Daddy!)_ bleeding in and out of each other until you've done this to _(DuncanVeronicaLillyDaddy)_ Meg a million times, both of you buried in red-stained sand.

When she finally comes _(slut)_ you're not shocked that she doesn't make a sound. You barely feel the tremor _(maybe you imagined it)_ of her satisfaction and it the anticlimax annoys you _(wake up)_. She acknowledges that with a tiny smile, wiser than you are _(liar)_, and you lean up an suck on one of her nipples, the child _(hello Oedipus!)_ that awakens Sleeping Beauty.

It doesn't work, but she smiles at the contact _(nice try, kid)_, seeing your unsatisfied hard-on, but _(ungrateful)_ doing nothing to help you. You lick her come off your fingers; she tastes _(dead)_ like pure exhaustion, and you feel that in your throat when you lay next to her and grab your cock.

You jerk off quickly and she's finally looking at you, not yet awake but _(further from)_ closer to it than you saw before. You breath heavily and she seems interested by the rhythm, but when you come she turns back to the sky and you would swear she never knew you were there at all. Your come mixes with her blood on the ground, and you expect to see pink; color of fairytale princesses, of innocence, of _(Ronnie)_ Meg.

You lean toward your _(damsel)_ partner and lean to kiss her _(break the curse)_; she shoves you away in the first real movement she's made. She shakes the sex _(and death)_ off and runs into the ocean water, leaving you incredibly confused about what just happened.

When school starts again, it's like that day never happened, and despite your finely honed skills at reading people _(they never fucking work)_ you don't see a hint of it on her face. She looks _(dead)_ alive.

At the end of the week, she falls asleep for real.


End file.
